


From Eden

by childrenofthebarricade



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 11:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16534019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenofthebarricade/pseuds/childrenofthebarricade
Summary: Crowley experiences some downright human emotions, like doubt, and regret, and wanting. He also doesn't always like being a demon. Luckily, Aziraphale likes him enough for the both of them.(Or, after six thousand years, it takes the world almost ending for these two to do something about their mutual-pining situation.)





	From Eden

**Author's Note:**

> "Honey you're familiar like my mirror years ago / Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on it's sword / Innocence died screaming, honey ask me I should know/ I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door" -"From Eden" by Hozier 
> 
> I just finished reading Good Omens and I'm utterly delighted by these two nerds, so hopefully I didn't butcher their characterizations! Now we wait anxiously for the Amazon series to come out.   
> As always, every comment gives a writer their wings.

“Do you ever wish that things had been different?”   
Aziraphale glanced up from his reading. “Well, you’ll have to be a bit more specific than that, my dear. I have quite a few things I would like to be different, but also quite a few I wouldn’t change for the world.”   
“I mean, do you ever wish that we… that I had never tempted Eve in the first place, that this whole bloody human mess had never begun, and we’d all just stayed in Eden and not wasted so much time on invention and weapons and tempting and thwarting? I mean, things were better then, weren’t they?” Crowley hated the uncertainty in his tone, had always hated the vulnerability of a question mark. He prefered to use questions with a bit more insinuation, a bit more rhetorical punch; questions like “Why not?”, “What could it hurt, really?” But it was one of those days; since the almost-apocalypse, he’d been feeling bored with his usual duties (after all, whoever invented Twitter had done a good bit of his work for him), and a bored demon was never a happy demon. 

The angel looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, “Well, it’s all part of the Plan, I suppose. The fruit was there for a reason- and so were you. And just look at what Eve’s burden of curiosity has helped bring about: not only weapons of war, but also medicine, science, exploration. Not to mention, my dear,” Aziraphale appeared to blush a bit, looking down at his hands, “that if we had all stayed in the garden, if we’d never changed, then we’d never have experienced the things we have, and so you wouldn’t really be you, and we’d never have become… what it is that we’ve become.” 

What have we become? Crowley thought. Friends, perhaps, but that word seemed too simple. Immortal beings don’t have friends. Demons do not have friends.   
He’d taken off his sunglasses a while ago, but now, as Aziraphale looked up to meet his gaze almost shyly, he wished he’d left them on. The angel had always had the bluest eyes imaginable, no matter what form he took. They made Crowley feel ugly by comparison, made him feel like a worm after rain, uncomfortably exposed, out of his element, a creature made for darkness basking in the sun. After a long moment, Aziraphale glanced away, and Crowley collected himself, yawning toothily and stretching in his seat in an attempt to reclaim his usual sinuously casual air. 

“I’m surprised you don’t have a rebuttal,” Aziraphale said, sounding almost disappointed.  
“Well, I’m not quite sure how to respond to such a declaration, Angel.” Crowley unfurled his long legs and stood, and Aziraphale looked up, startled. “Crowley,” He said, and his voice sounded odd, almost choked, “Don’t leave just yet, alright?”   
“I was just getting more wine.”   
“Oh. Alright, then.” 

About a minute later, Crowley returned, holding one mug full of red wine and another full of tea, with his dark sunglasses covering his eyes once more. He handed the cup of tea to Aziraphale, who gave a put-upon smile. “Really, my dear, you’d think you’d know me better by now.”   
“Right, fine then.” Crowley waved a hand over the tea cup and the tea became wine. “Better?”   
Aziraphale took a sip. “Mm. Just in the interest of not letting you drink alone, of course.” Crowley smirked into his cup. “Of course.” 

“You’re wearing the…” A vague gesture towards his face, “again.”   
“Well, yes, I usually do. They’re quite the invention; do a great deal to stop me freaking people out.”  
Aziraphale hummed in the concerned sort of way that meant he was about to start an argument. “There aren’t any ‘people’ here, though. Just me. And after six thousand years I’d say I’m rather used to them.”   
“Yes, well. Being used to something isn’t exactly the same as being ok with it.”   
Crowley closed his eyes and turned away, because really, what kind of self-respecting demon admits something like that. He couldn’t look at Aziraphale, just couldn’t— he knew that the startled pity and kindness and pure fucking benevolence in those blue eyes would disincorporate him just as surely as holy water. That was just the thing; however flawed Aziraphale may be, however many human quirks he’d absorbed, however good at tempting he was when it came down to it, he was still so holy, so fundamentally good. Sometimes it made Crowley want to rip his throat out. And sometimes it made him want to… well, it didn’t do to dwell on those kinds of wants. 

“Crowley,” the angel said softly, “I am ok with your eyes. I am ok with the way you hiss. I am ok with everything about you.” He paused, and Crowley could hear him move closer on the couch, could feel the warmth that he practically radiated. “More than ok,” Aziraphale murmured, almost to himself. “So, so much more.”   
“It’s just that…” Crowley ground out, fighting every word. “It’s just that you make me miss being good, angel. I hate that about you sometimes.”   
“I know. I know.”   
“You’ve always made me miss things I never had; human things, like tea, and classical music, and traffic jams, breakfast foods, ballroom dancing, falling in love…” He ground his courage to the sticking place and looked up, but still couldn’t quite meet Aziraphale’s eyes.   
“Crowley…”   
“Will you ssstop sssaying my name like that?”   
Aziraphale shrugged artlessly. “I can’t help it. Never could. Will you take off those damned glasses please?” Crowley nodded his head just a little, but didn’t move his hands, so Aziraphale reached up and gently removed them. He was so very close. Crowley closed his eyes again. 

“You can have all of those things, you know. That last thing…” He sounded almost bashful. “You must have known all along that you could have it if you wanted. Forget heaven, forget hell, you can have what you want.”   
“Tempting…” It was nothing more than a hiss, a word carried on an exhalation of breath, punched out of him.   
“No, I’m not. That’s your job.” Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. “Won’t you look at me, my darling?” Crowley blinked open his eyes, looked up to meet his angel’s gaze. Those endless eyes caught his and hold steady, but there was a fleck of uncertainty in them, uncertainty that hovered between hope and fear. Crowley sensed that the angel had brought them as far as he is able into this thing that’d hovered between them for so many years, living in drunken touches, long looks, and begrudging compliments.   
“There, isn’t that better?” Aziraphale said, and it was so much better, and so much worse. “I’ve always loved your eyes. Most people would say they’re yellow, but I’ve always found them more… golden.” 

His warm pinky finger brushed Crowley’s, and suddenly Crowley couldn’t help it anymore, he was reaching up to cup Aziraphale’s face in his hands, leaning forward to kiss him, and thinking that it was bound to happen eventually, it was practically ineffable, and even if it never happened again, it would be worth it because the angel is warm, so warm, and Crowley has been cold-blooded for too long, can’t remember the last time he’d felt this warm. Can’t remember the last time he’d felt this loved.   
Aziraphale made a surprised little noise in the back of his throat and then a contented hum, and when Crowley pulled back and took a tiny backwards stumble, suddenly realizing what he’d done, he grabbed onto his wrist to make him stay and smiled a smile like the sun itself.   
“It was about time, wasn’t it?” he said, reaching up to cup Crowley’s jaw in his soft hand.   
“I supposssse sssso.”   
“I love the way you hiss.” 

There are worse things in life than being a demon, Crowley thought. And then Aziraphale was pulling him down onto the couch to kiss him some more, and he stopped thinking altogether.


End file.
